


The Rider at Midwinter

by Daegaer



Category: The Dark Is Rising
Genre: Gen, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rider meets Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rider at Midwinter

The early morning was crisp and clear, the snow lying unbroken as the sun rose into a pale blue sky. From over a hill came a solitary rider on a massive black horse, plodding slowly and determinedly through the snow. The rider looked about him with bright blue eyes, pushing straight russet hair back from his face. There was no other sign of life than he and his horse, and he relaxed, sitting easier in the saddle. The only sound was the crackle of his horse's hooves breaking the thin frozen crust of the snow, and the breaths of the animal, coming in great steaming whuffs against the chill air.

The great horse stumbled, and the rider muttered a curse. After a few more steps he slid down, lifting each of the strong black legs in turn. It had cast a shoe. He hunted back along the way they had come, picking up the iron in disgust. He had no power over the metal, and could not ride his horse further if he did not want it lamed. Ahead he saw smoke rising into the air, and seized the reins in his hand. Not too far to the smith, and he could be about his business soon enough.

'Good morrow, master Smith,' he said, leaving his horse to stand in the midst of the low buildings. 'I have work for you this cold morn.'

'Aye,' the smith said with no great liking, taking the shoe from him. 'You will come in from the cold, Rider?'

The rider grinned at the man's tone and strolled into the warmth of the forge, holding out his hands to the fire. Neutrality did not sit well with this one. He resolved to take his time leaving the smith's presence.

'Your wife is well?' he inquired idly, smiling with quick malice at the smith's face.

'Well enough,' the smith said, and brought up the fire. 'I will be quick as I can with your horse.' He thrust the shoe into the fire and began to work the bellows, forestalling any further conversation.

The rider leaned back against a bench, drawing his cloak about him and letting the heat from the fire ease him into a comfortable rest. The sound of iron on iron made him open his eyes briefly to see the sparks showering from the smith's hammer. Then the shoe was back in the fire and his eyes were drifting closed once more. His eyes flew open as his horse whinnied in low alarm, and he went to its side, patting it and gentling it.

'Easy,' he said, 'easy there. It will not be long.' The horse turned to whuff in his face and he stilled, knowing himself watched. A little way off a young boy waited, his dress ugly and not of the time in which they all stood. He was looking at the rider with dawning unease, as if half-remembering warnings. The rider flicked his cloak about him neatly and stepped forward as the sun went behind a stray cloud. Things did not happen for no reason, and it was clear to him now that this meeting was why his horse's shoe had been lost. The boy - no boy, the rider suspected - turned his face towards the smith, then thrust his hands within his pockets and crossed the road.

'Morning, John,' he said, in the Old Speech.

The rider breathed out slowly as the boy and the smith talked, as if even too loud a breath would frighten this seeming-child away. The boy did not know who he was, who the smith was, nor even who he himself was. The last-born of the Old Ones, newly awoken and still stupid with mortality, here within his hand's grasp; a rare chance to end the conflict now and bring about the long cold victory of the Dark with no more effort for either side.

Smiling and harmless, the Black Rider stepped forward to congratulate a lost child on his birthday.


End file.
